ONE NIGHT, SECOND CHANCE Read online

  “We lost touch.” Wynn added, “I didn’t expect an invitation.”

  “Seems the world is full of surprises.”

  While Wynn held Grace’s wry look, Brock picked up a less complicated thread.

  “Wynn runs the print arm of Hunter Enterprises here in New York now.” He asked Wynn, “Is Cole still in charge of your broadcasting wing in Australia?”

  Wynn nodded. “Although he stepped back a bit. He’s getting married.”

  “Cole was always so committed to the company. A workaholic, like his dad.” Brock chuckled fondly. “Glad he’s settling down. Just goes to show—there’s someone for everyone.”

  It seemed that before he could catch himself, Brock slid a hesitant look his daughter’s way. Grace’s gaze immediately dropped. He made a point of evaluating the room before sending a friendly salute over to a circle of friends nearby.

  “I see the Dilshans. Should go catch up.” Brock kissed his daughter’s cheek. “I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted.”

  As Brock left, Wynn decided to let them both off the hook. As much as this meeting was awkward, their interactions three nights ago had felt remarkably right. Details of that time had also been private and, as far as he was concerned, would remain that way.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, tipping a fraction closer. “I won’t let on that you and I were already reintroduced.”

  She looked amused. “I didn’t think you’d blurt out the fact that we picked each other up at a bar.”

  She really didn’t pull any punches.

  “Still don’t want to get into each other’s stories?” he asked.

  “As it turns out, we already know each other, remember?”

  “I didn’t mean twenty years ago. I’m talking about now.”

  Her grin froze before she lifted her chin and replied. “Probably best that we don’t.”

  He remembered her father’s comment about there being a person for everyone and Grace’s reaction. He recalled how she’d wanted to keep their conversation superficial that night. His bet? Grace Munroe had secrets.

  None of his business. Hell, he had enough crap of his own going down in his life. Still, before they parted again, he was determined to clear something up.

  “Tell me one thing,” he said. “Did you have any idea who I was that night?”

  She laughed. “There, see? You do have a sense of humor.”

  As she turned away, he reached and caught her wrist. An electric bolt shot up his arm as her hair flared out and her focus snapped back around. She almost looked frightened. Not his intention at all.

  “Dance with me,” he said.

  Those honeyed eyes widened before she tilted her chin again. “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t want the chance to trip me up again?”

  She grinned. “Admit it. You were a clumsy kid.”

  “You were a brat.”

  “Be careful.” She eyed the fingers circling her wrist. “You’ll catch girl germs.”

  “I’m immune.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “Trust me. I’m sure.”

  He shepherded her toward the dance floor. A moment later, when he took her in his arms, Wynn had to admit that though he’d never liked little Gracie Munroe, he sure approved of the way this older version fit so well against him. Surrounded by other couples, he studied her exquisite but indolent face before pressing his palm firmly against the small of her back.

  Dancing her around in a tight, intimate circle, he asked, “How you holding up?”

  “Not nauseous...yet.”

  “No driving desire to curl your ankle around the back of mine and push?”

  “I’ll keep you informed.”

  He surrendered a grin. He just bet she would.

  “Where’s your mother tonight?”

  Her cheeky smile faded. “Staying with my grandmother. She hasn’t been well.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “Pining. My grandfather passed away not long ago. He was Nan’s rock.” Her look softened more. “I remember my parents going to your mother’s funeral a few years back.”

  His stomach gave a kick. Even now, memories of his father failing due to lack of sleep from his immeasurable loss left a lump in Wynn’s throat the size of an egg. The word saint had been tailor-made for his mom. She would never be forgotten. Would always be missed.

  But life had gone on.

  “My father married again.”

  She nodded, and he remembered her parents had attended the wedding. “Is he happy?”

  “I suppose.”

  A frown pinched her brow as she searched his eyes. “You’re not convinced.”

  “My stepmother was one of my mother’s best friend’s daughters.”

  “Wow. Sounds complicated.”

  That was one way to put it.

  Cole and Dex, Guthrie’s second-oldest son, had labeled their father’s second wife a gold digger, and worse. Wynn’s motto had always been Right Is Right. But not everything about Eloise Hunter was black or white. Eloise was, after all, his youngest brother Tate’s mom. With his father’s stalker still on the loose, little Tate didn’t need one ounce more trouble in his life, particularly not nasty gossip concerning one of his parents running around.

  Out of all his siblings, Wynn loved Tate the best. There was a time when he’d imagined having a kid just like him one day.

  Not anymore.

  Wynn felt a tap on his shoulder. A shorter man stood waiting, straightening his bow tie, wearing a stupid grin.

  “Mind if I cut in?” the man asked.

  Wynn gave a curt smile. “Yeah, I do.”

  With pinpricks of light falling over the dance floor in slow motion, Grace tsked as he moved them along. “That wasn’t polite.”

  Wynn only smiled.

  “He’s a friend,” she explained.

  What could he say? Too bad.

  She looked at him more closely. “I’m confused. From what I’ve heard, Cole was the workaholic, Dex, the playboy. Aren’t you supposed to be the Hunter brother with a conscience?”

  “I grew up.”

  “Hardened up.”

  “And yet you’re captivated by my charm.”

  Her lips twitched. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “So I dreamed that you came home with me three nights ago?”

  She didn’t blush. Not even close.

  “I was feeling self-indulgent. Guess we connected.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed,” his head angled closer, “we still do.”

  Her hand on his shoulder tightened even as she averted her gaze. “I’ve never been in that kind of situation before.”

  He admitted, “Neither have I.”

  “I can’t regret the other night.” She let out a breath. “But, I’m not interested in pursuing anything...rekindling any flames. It’s not a good time.”

  He felt his smile waver before firming back up.

  “I don’t recall asking.”

  “So, that hand sliding toward my behind, pressing me in against the ridge in your pants... I kind of took that as a hint.” Her smile was thin. “I’m not after a relationship, Wynn. Not right now. Not of any kind.”

  He’d asked her to dance to prove, well, something. Now he wasn’t sure what. Three nights ago, he’d been attracted by her looks. Intrigued by her wit. Drawn by her touch. Frankly, she was right. The way he felt this minute wasn’t a whole lot different from that.

  However, Grace Munroe had made her wishes known. On a less primal level, he agreed. At the edge of the dance floor, he released her and stepped away.

  “I’ll let you get back to your party.”

  A look—was it respec
t?—faded up in her eyes. “Say hi to Teagan and your brothers for me.”

  “Will do.”

  Although these days the siblings rarely saw each other. But Cole was set to tie the knot soon with Australian television producer Taryn Quinn, which meant a family gathering complete with wily stepmother, stalked father and, inevitably, questions surrounding the altered state of Wynn’s own personal life.

  Until recently, he—not Cole or Dex—had been the brother destined for marriage. Of course, that was before the former love of his life, Heather Matthews, had informed the world that actually, she’d made other plans. When the bomb had hit, he’d slogged through the devastated stage, the angry phase. Now, he was comfortable just cruising along. So comfortable, in fact, he had no desire to ever lay open his heart to anyone again for any reason, sexy Grace Munroe included.

  Wynn found the bride and groom, did the right thing and wished them nothing but happiness. On his way out of the room, which was thumping with music now, he bumped into Brock again. Wynn had a feeling it wasn’t by accident.

  “I see you shared a dance with my daughter,” Brock said.

  “For old time’s sake.”

  “She might have told you...Grace left New York twelve months ago. She’s staying on in Manhattan for a few days, getting together with friends.” He mentioned the name of the prestigious hotel. “If you wanted to call in, see how she’s doing... Well, I’d appreciate it. Might help keep some bad memories at bay.” Brock lowered his voice. “She lost someone close to her recently.”

  “She mentioned her grandfather—”

  “This was a person around her age.” The older man’s mouth twisted. “He was a firefighter. A good man. They were set to announce their engagement before the accident.”

  The floor tilted beneath Wynn’s feet. Concentrating, he rubbed his temple—that scar.

  “Grace was engaged?”

  “As good as. The accident happened a year ago last week here in New York.”

  Wynn had believed Grace when she’d said that their night was a one-off—that she’d never gone home with a man before on a whim. Now the pieces fit. On that unfortunate anniversary, Grace had drowned out those memories by losing herself in Wynn’s company. He wasn’t upset by her actions; he understood them better than most. Hadn’t he found solace—oblivion—in someone else’s arms, too?

  “She puts on a brave face.” Brock threw a weary glance around the room. “But being here at one of her best friends’ weddings, in front of so many others who know... She should have been married herself by now.” Brock squared his heavy shoulders. “No one likes to be pitied. No one wants to be alone.”

  Brock wished Wynn the best with his make-believe meeting in the morning. Wynn was almost at the door when the music stopped and the DJ announced, “Calling all eligible ladies. Gather round. The bride is ready to throw her bouquet!”

  Wynn cast a final glance back. He was interested to see that Grace hadn’t positioned herself for the toss; she stood apart and well back from the rest.

  A drumroll echoed out through the sound system. In her fluffy white gown, the beaming bride spun around. With an arm that belonged in the majors, she lobbed the weighty bunch well over her head. A collective gasp went up as the bouquet hurtled through the air, high over the outstretched arms of the nearest hopefuls. Over outliers’ arms, as well. It kept flying and flying.

  Straight toward Grace.

  As the bouquet dropped from the ceiling, Grace realized at the last moment that she was in the direct line of fire. Rather than catch it, however, she stepped aside and petals smacked the polished floor near her feet. Then, as if wrenched by an invisible cord, the bouquet continued to slide. It stopped dead an inch from Wynn’s shoes. The room stilled before all eyes shot from the flowers to Grace.

  The romantically minded might have seen this curious event as an omen. Might have thought that the trajectory of the bouquet as it slid along the floor from Grace to Wynn meant they ought to get together. Only most guests here would know. Grace didn’t want a fiancé.

  She was still grieving the one she had lost.

  As he and Grace stared at each other, anticipation vibrated off the walls and Wynn felt a stubborn something creak deep inside him. An awareness that had lain frozen and unfeeling these past months thawed a degree, and then a single icicle snapped and fell away from his soul.

  Hunkering down, he collected the flowers. With their audience hushed and waiting, he headed back to Grace.

  When he stopped less than an arm’s distance away, he inspected the flowers—red and white roses with iridescent fern in between. But he didn’t hand over the bouquet. Rather, he circled his arm around Grace’s back and, in front of the spellbound crowd, slowly—deliberately—lowered his head over hers.

  Two

  As he drew her near, two things flashed through Grace’s mind.

  What in God’s name is Wynn Hunter doing?

  The other thought evaporated into a deep, drugging haze when the remembered heat of his mouth captured hers. At the same instant her limbs turned to rubber, her fingertips automatically wound into his lapels. Her toes curled and her core contracted, squeezing around a kernel of mindless want.

  This man’s kiss was spun from dreams. The hot, strong feel of him, the taste...his scent...

  From the time she’d left his suite that night, she had wondered. The hours she’d spent in his bed had seemed so magical, perhaps she’d only dreamed them up. But this moment was real, and now she only wanted to experience it all again—his lips drifting over her breasts, his hands stroking, hips rocking.

  When his lips gradually left hers, the burning feel of him remained. With her eyes closed, she focused on the hard press of his chest against her bodice...her need to have him kiss her again. Then, from the depths of her kiss-induced fog, Grace heard a collective sigh go up in the room. With her head still whirling, she dragged open heavy eyes. Wynn’s face was slanted over hers. He was smiling softly.

  In a matter of seconds, he had made her forget about everything other than this. But the encounter three nights ago had been a mutually agreed upon, ultraprivate affair. This scene had been played out in front of an audience. Friends, and friends of friends, who knew what had happened last year.

  Or thought that they knew.

  Grace kept her unsteady voice hushed. “What are you doing?”

  “Saying goodbye properly.” With his arm still a strong band around her, he took a step back. “Are you all right to stand?”

  She shook off more of her stupor. “Of course I can stand.” But as she moved to disengage herself, she almost teetered.

  With a knowing grin, he handed over the bouquet, which she mechanically accepted at the same time the DJ’s voice boomed through the speakers.

  “How about that, folks! What do you say? Is that our next bride-to-be?”

  The applause was hesitant at first before the show of support went through the roof. Grace cringed at the attention. On another level, it also gave a measure of relief. Anything—including a huge misunderstanding—was better than the sea of pitying faces she’d had to endure that day.

  “If you want,” Wynn murmured, “I can stay longer.”

  With her free hand, she smoothed down her skirt—and gathered the rest of her wits. “I’m sure you’ve done enough.”

  His gaze filtered over her face, lingering on her lips, still moist and buzzing from his kiss. Then, looking as hot as any Hollywood hunk, he turned and sauntered away.

  A heartbeat later, the lights faded, music blared again and Amy Calhoun caught ahold of Grace’s hand. As Amy dragged her to a relatively quiet corner, out of general view, her red ringlets looked set to combust with excitement.

  “Who was that?” she cried.

  Still lightheaded, Grace leaned back against the wall. �
�You don’t want to know.”

  “I saw you two dancing. Did you only meet tonight? I mean, you don’t have to say a word. I’m just curious, like friends are.” Amy squeezed Grace’s hand. “It’s so good to see you happy.”

  “I look happy?” She felt spacey. Agitated.

  In need of a cold shower.

  “If you want to know, you look swept off your feet.” The plump lips covering Amy’s overbite twitched. “I actually thought that’s what he’d do. Lift you up into his arms and carry you away.”

  Amy was an only child. She and Grace had grown up tight, spending practically every weekend at each other’s places on Long Island—dressing up as princesses, enjoying the latest Disney films. Amy still lived and espoused a Cinderella mentality; a happily-ever-after would surely come if only a girl believed. An optimistic mindset was never a bad thing. However, with regard to this situation, Amy’s sentimental nature was a bust.

  “Wynn and I had met before tonight. It happened.” Grace tossed the flowers aside on a table. “It’s over.”

  “Okay.” Amy’s pearl chocker bobbed as she swallowed. “So, when you say it happened, you mean it as in...”

  “As in intercourse. One night of amazing, mind-blowing, unforgettable sex.” Grace groaned out a breath. God, it felt good to get that off her chest.

  “Wow.” Amy held her brow as if her head might be spinning. “Mind-blowing, huh? That’s great. Fantastic. I’m just a little—”

  “Shocked?”

  “In a good way,” Amy gave her a sympathetic look. “We’ve all been so worried.”

  As that familiar sick feeling welled up inside her, Grace flinched. “No one needs to be.”

  “I’m sure everyone knows that now. Sam was a great guy...a decorated firefighter from an awesome family. We all loved him. And he loved you—so much. But you needed something to push you to move on.”

  Those last words pulled Grace up.

  But Wynn’s invitation to this wedding was based on a lapsed friendship with the groom. He wasn’t in the loop, and it was a stretch to think that someone had mentioned a bridesmaid’s tragic personal situation over coffee and wedding cake.